The day when Disney put a face on one of my character.

Several years ago, I wrote a little story for one of my cousins. He was twelve at the time.
The story is about a mischievous little devil who lives in a bright, spacious, and suspiciously cheap apartment on the Rue de Grenelle in Paris.
For a hundred years, the devil maintained his tenancy by driving out every short term occupant. His method was simple: he would transform into the victim's greatest fear. He terrified an explorer by appearing as a giant anaconda, a fear so profound it even made the newspapers.
This successful reign ended when little Kevin moved in with his mum and dad. "Two weeks, tops," the devil predicted.
He spent days observing them, but the family presented a problem: They feared nothing. Frustrated, the devil decided to improvise.
He tried the father first. One midnight, the dad went for a snack. CRACK! The devil appeared. The father simply frowned. "Who left shattered glass on the floor? Someone could get hurt!" The devil glanced down: he had become shattered glass. "Shattered glass? I’m a first category devil! My standing is going down!" he fumed, vanishing in shame.
The next day, he targeted the mother as she reviewed documents. CRACK! The devil materialized. She worriedly picked up the pages containing him, exclaiming: "I forgot to pay the gas bill! Thank goodness I reviewed these!" He was a gas bill. "A gas bill?! My standing is ruined!" He disappeared, deeply humiliated.
This time, he focused entirely on little Kevin. He knew three things: Kevin loved drawing, loved watching the stars, and for Christmas, had asked for only one thing: a Bagada. The parents had searched everywhere; the object simply did not exist.
On Christmas Eve, presents piled up—but no Bagada. After his parents slept, Kevin crept into the living room, still hoping to spot it.
"This is it!" thought the devil, determined to deliver a real scare. When the boy entered, CRACK! The devil appeared!
The boy gasped, turning paper white, his body trembling. Then, in a tiny, reverent voice, he said:
"Hello, little Jesus. I have never asked for anything, but please, please, I would like a Bagada. You know I’ve been a good b—"
The devil didn't let him finish. He vanished, overwhelmed by a truly new emotion: shame.
The next morning, Kevin found all his usual Christmas gifts. But one small, wrapped box remained under the tree. He tore it open, jumping up and down with delight, hugging his present and screaming: "My Bagada! My Bagada! Thank you!"
The little devil looked at himself and, in a moment of horror and wonder, realized he had been transformed into a magnificent Bagada.
That is how a little boy turned a Parisian demon into his favorite toy.
And if you, like me, are wondering what a Bagada is, just check the latest Disney Christmas advert. I have a feeling you’ll recognize it.

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